Blood Splattered Mirrors
by still-lilies
Summary: 1905. Ivan, his people, and the day he finally let go of the loose threads of sanity, where his descent began.


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**(1905)**

**Friday** (1.23)

The bodies are dropping.

Their sound rings in his head, thumping of humans, body flesh and bones, against the cold, stone ground and the shots – _bangbangbangbang_- and the cries of _his_ people, tears of lost children and heartbroken adults-

Ivan wakes up with the sounds still standing strong in his ears, the nightmares of war over the peaceful quiet that he never found himself waking up to. He buries his face in his hands, waiting as the sounds leave on their own. Oh, how he hates war, in all its cruelty and harsh reality.

Toris knocks on his door and opens it slightly.

"…R-Russia?"

"…Nothing." That's a lie, of course, but if he would tell Toris – as much as he adores him,- what is wrong, he will be afraid of the other's reaction.

(They all hate war, of course; But it's society. You have to pretend that those weaknesses you posses, that everybody posses and are so common but are never mentioned as such, don't exist.

And since the existence of society, aren't we all hiding our flaws?)

**Saturday** (1.24)

Oh how he hates it. How he hates the fact that he loves his people and his nation, loves putting all he has into making it better, going forward (forward, up and advancing) for the sake of them, and they- and they all hate him. How he hates being alone (And Toris is there, he is always there, of course, but Toris has his own nation to take care of, and nobody is going to be Russia instead of him, it's all in Ivan's hands now-), how he hates this war and this mess and the hate and the tension between them-

(_Why are we separate in the first place?_)

They tell him; "Think of our suffering", and instead of thinking, "Think of mine too, you bastards," (That's what most humans would think, after all) Ivan tells them, "I will."

And he does, and he does what he can; is that not enough?

(_Maybe the only way to reach peace is for all of us to unite_)

Of course not. A real leader never says, "Is that not enough?".

(_We should all become one_.)

He stares at the mirror and smiles. That smile. That fake little smile that says "Everything is all right."

That little smile Toris wears when he doesn't want Ivan to say anything. So warm and sweet and sad.

(Toris. Always there, so quiet and supportive when he needs to be. Yet somehow in the background all the time. Ivan wishes he would come over more. He can be anyone next to him. Say anything.)

When he looks in the mirror, his own face stares at him and mocks him with that fake and cruel smile (nothing like that sad smile Toris wears in an attempt to assure him that yes, I'm alright, thank you, I'm holding up great)

**Sunday** (1.25)

Ivan stares in the window. People are protesting, being as irritating and hateful as ever- _his_ people, in the end. And he loves them.

(_I love you people, of course, but what do I do with you?_)

Toris walks from behind and pauses. A moment of tensions passes, "…um, it appears his Highness is having tea in the palace…"

Tea. Oh, how he would love to do that, sit and cheerfully drink tea as though the past days brought him no bother…

"I see…"  
There would have been silence if it not for the protest outside. Ivan drops the smile he has been so carefully working on for the day when he'll need it most. (_It's alright, I can be who I am next to him…_)

"It's becoming rather serious…" Toris says uncertainly. Always there to say something, even if it's putting such a situation so lightly. Like it will make it better. Oh, how human of him. (Ivan likes it.)

"But I'm sure they'll clear out by tomorrow…"

Yes, of course they will, but can I wait until tomorrow? "Why does it always end up like this…" Ivan whispers, seemingly to himself.

No use hiding that- "I finally made this nation stronger and more prestigious than others by myself. I worked so hard…" Human speech, human thoughts, the kind of things humans say when things go wrong- "Why is it that nothing goes right? Why they always end up hating me?" What more do I have to-

He hadn't cried for so, so long, but now, maybe it's the best…"Everyone says it's my fault…I've endured it for centuries. Why can't everyone just get along nicely with each other?"

_Because conflict has existed as long as- as long as-_

He laughs bitterly to himself. Everything begins to seem so depressingly amusing. His people, people who go against him, people who he has no use loving- what's the point? What's the point of them staying here in the first place?

(They'll all die someday sooner or later. Of course, these people will have choice taken from them but… nobody chooses when to die anyway.)

"R-Russia?" He can't blame Toris for being so afraid, but that's okay- everything will be okay soon- as long as _they leave-_

"Hey, Lithuania…" Ivan picked up a gun that lay untouched against the window shelf for so long. He wiped a tear and smiled that same smile that he worked on for so long- that says, 'It's not alright, I'm just pretending'-

"We don't want children… who can't play nice, right?"

_BANG, BANG, BANG BANG!!-_

Blood, so red and so bright and so strong on the dull, grey colors that cover Russia, splattered around as people continue to fall- and the sounds, the shooting and the crying and the _thump_ from his nightmares have come back into reality- except now he's the one bringing to them and _he just can't stop._

(It's them, It's those people. It's not me. It was never me. I'm just the nation, country, not its people. It's all them who drove me- drove me to this-)

He wonders as he shoots and as the bodies continue dropping, what everyone will think. Wonders what they'll say. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore- or does it? He's so absorbed, too absorbed in the moment and the striking red that suddenly gives the world around him some color and life (-death) , and _who said that murder is a sin? This painting's only color is red, and destruction has never been so pretty¬_-

It stops. He stops. He drops the gun together with the last body.

There is nobody here to see him drop that mask- and stares at the image of death, his expression cold and cruel and dark.

He is covered with blood, spots and splatters in his hair, his scarf, his hands- it's sort of warm and feels so nice on his _hands_- and turns around to the footsteps of Toris behind him.

Ivan gives Toris that fake smile that will follow him for a long time. "It's going to be okay."

Toris isn't convinced. Of course not. All he has to do now is wonder.

"Toris."

"Ivan."

…

Every morning, he wakes up, looks in the mirror, and carefully dons a fake, 'everything is alright and I'm not crazy at all' smile like a woman daily applies makeup.

Every morning.

-

_;End_

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End file.
